Sound Advice: Kanye and other Outside Lands adventures

Yeezy, revisited: Remember when Kanye West played Arco Arena in 2008 and hollered “What’s up, Seattle!”? That was long before the Emerald City tried to jack the Sacramento Kings, but it was still a dumbass move. That gig was also the same day Kanye’s bodyguard threatened to beat me up: I was waiting for His Westness outside downtown’s former Hangar recording studio, where he was laboring over vocal tracks for the 808s & Heartbreak album. A black Cadillac Escalade (would Kanye ever roll in one of those today?) pulled up, a guy hopped out, and he told me, “No photo ops.”

“I don’t need a photo op. I just need a photograph,” I replied.

“That’s not going to happen, because you won’t even get that lens cap off,” he threatened (I already had my lens cap off).

The reason to revisit this is because Kanye played almost his entire headlining set this past Friday night at Outside Lands in San Francisco wearing a mask over his face. Apparently, he’s finally given up on trying to control his image, and now just paper-bags his mug.

Derrida would have a field day with that. But this is a music column, so let’s discuss the good and bad of ’Ye’s set. He opened with “Black Skinhead,” a bruising, perhaps even Death Grips-inspired track that made its way into the homes of white America via a Motorola commercial. Nevertheless, a killer tune. Too bad the rest of his nearly 90-minute set couldn’t keep up. “Blood on the Leaves,” an experimental ballad off the Yeezus album, was abandoned when ’Ye wasn’t feeling it. “Good Life” was uninspired. And so on. He was predictably indulgent and too hit-and-miss with the artsy-fartsy noodling.

The crowd, however, remained transfixed—or perhaps they were just jonesing for a Kim Kardashian sighting (she was there, in the pit, watching his first few songs).

So, yeah, letdowns abound at Outside Lands’ opening day. El-P and Killer Mike’s side project, Run the Jewels, felt one-note. Warpaint was like a 2010-era Sister Crayon on Quaaludes.

But the festival was no downer. Another Planet Entertainment, who puts on Outside Lands, transformed Golden Gate Park into a food, music and drink haven. I’d never been so happy to pay for a $13 Manhattan at the craft-cocktail lounge. Even the pork banh mi, $8, delivered with crisp, salty pig; crunchy pickled veggies; and good heat. Outside Lands: A cool food and drink festival with really expensive background music?

Days of ducks and rainbows: Outside Lands never felt so Outside Lands as it did during the Duck Sauce Soirée. Said soiree was part of the festival’s new GastroMagic stage, which was absolute magic. San Francisco chef Brandon Jew quietly cooked onstage, smirking in a way that I interpreted to mean, “What the hell am I doing here?”

Meanwhile, Duck Sauce, the duo comprising Armand Van Helden and A-Trak was at the turntable, spinning disco to a crowd of rowdy dancers. Only the dancers were still engaged with Jew. Once Jew started pouring some stock from one pot into a bowl, everyone oohed and ahhed. And when Jew brought out the immersion blender—oh my goodness—mayhem ensued. Duck fritters were haphazardly thrown into the audience. Four people in ridiculous, bright-yellow duck costumes grooved across the stage.

The silliness, the energy, the tunes, the food—this is what Outside Lands does best. I was stoked on Sunday to see more chef tricks, but Christopher Kostow, chef at a Michelin three-starred restaurant in Napa, canceled in the morning, and my mood was soured. Then Chvrches canceled, too—flight issues from Canada, apparently.

Sacramento expat Tycho, however, put on an entrancing, ambient set and another Sacramento expat who probably blew thousands of people away? Mark Liberman, the chef behind now-shuttered Black Sheep Butchery. His “highbrow spaghetti sloppy joe’s” were genius: spaghetti stuffed into a warm, chewy roll, with basil, Sriracha sauce and Parmesan cheese. As he put it: “Super stoner food. Not gluten-free at all. Carb on top of carb on top of dairy.”

The festival was not going to get any better after that sandwich. But then the Flaming Lips played and proved me wrong, with endless glittery streamers and smiley-face stickers. There were giant mushrooms, suns, butterflies and aliens. Singer Wayne Coyne rolled out onto the audience in a giant hamster ball and later re-emerged stroking a baby doll. I have no more words to describe it, but if I close my eyes, I’m pretty sure I can still see rainbows.